


bad ritual

by mxtivation



Series: Monsta Mash 2019 [2]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Halloween AU, Magic AU, One Shot, Paranormal AU, Smut, demon minhyuk, lil bit of feels, lol this is just demon sex sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxtivation/pseuds/mxtivation
Summary: “Why do you think you're here?"He sighs, and you can't tell if it's from disappointment or the glide of your tongue on his skin. "Thought it was to make you beg until you cry. What a shame, all work and no play," he groans."Get to work and maybe I'll let you play with me."In which demon Minhyuk is summoned to lift a hex.





	bad ritual

You never get accustomed to the smell of brimstone. There’s a hot flash of light that dissolves into warm colors and kisses the walls with fire, then the burning scent of scorched earth. You don't let your lip free from its vice between your teeth until the smell fades into something smoky and earthen, soothing in its familiarity. 

Minhyuk had lost his flair for a dramatic entrance months ago, now preferring to announce himself with a gentle touch instead of a loud bang that plunged the room into darkness. Brimstone, unfortunately, remained. It was a caveat of the magic, an ancient trade-off older than the gods themselves. Brimstone, then a featherlight ghost of a hand against your cheek. 

"Do you know when it's me summoning you, or do you always dress so risque for run-of-the-mill witches?" you ask. 

Minhyuk runs a hand down the front of his shirt, an attractive slate shade of silk that would look beautiful binding your wrists together. "Depends," he drawls, stepping leisurely toward you until you can feel the heat of his skin. "Do you dress like a walking wet dream all the time, or am I special?"

Your fingertips trail across the fabric. Minhyuk had to be taken in small doses, absorbed in tiny details you could break down instead of consumed all at once. He was a slow poison, each taste a bitter sting but sweet enough to leave you wanting. The shirt was easy - an expensive silk soft to the touch and settling deliciously across the planes of his chest. Collarbones were more difficult to process abjectly, fingers gliding across the caramel edges and divets until their urge was satisfied. Your lips parted somewhere around neck, swallowed thickly at jawline, ghosted a shaky exhale at lips. tiny, dangerous, details. "I like being your wet dream," you answer as the tip of your nail settles at the full cusp of his pout. 

The low groan of approval from those pretty lips makes all the blood spilled to summon him worth it. Hot hands find your waist, lips find yours, sighs find your own little gasps as he pulls you against his marble body and kisses you deeply. It ends too soon. Your brow furrows as he pulls away with a frown. "You're so hexed I can taste it."

You giggle a little, placating your lips by mouthing a coy trail across his collarbone. "Why do you think you're here?"

He sighs, and you can't tell if it's from disappointment or the glide of your tongue on his skin. "Thought it was to make you beg until you cry. What a shame, all work and no play," he groans. 

"Get to work and maybe I'll let you play with me."

"I'm a good multitasker," he says. Long limbs untangle from your own and spread across your dove duvet like it's the most natural thing in the world. Summoning from your own home was taboo - summoning so intimately from your own bedroom, unheard of. The demon on your bed had seen the inside of your sheets enough to negate the risk; if he wanted to hurt you, he would have ruined you months ago. He doesn't let you forget it. 

Your eyes linger on the spread of his thighs in those sinful black pants stark against the duvet. He gestures nonchalantly towards his lap. "Take a seat, the doctor will see you now," he drawls. You almost roll your eyes, but the cocky lilt of an eyebrow makes you reconsider. 

It's a familiar position - knees planted outside his hips, weight balanced across Minhyuk's thighs and chest pressed to his gently enough to pass as accidental. Your fingers instinctively tug at the dark hair at the nape of his neck before you remember he's supposed to be working. His gaze slides across your body, serpentine.

"Who'd you piss off?"

His hands find your thighs, stroking a slow path up your skin. Concentrating is impossible. He leans in, trails his full pout across the line of your jaw until you're arching your body further against that midnight aura you crave so badly. 

"I asked you a question," he says, barely above a whisper. The firmness of his tone settles between your thighs like a flame, his hands and lips still deliciously soft as they roam. 

"Guess," you ghost against his lips. He smirks, caves, lets you get away with it as he pulls your body completely to his until he's grazing your throat with sharp teeth between words. 

"I'd guess," he murmurs, pausing to suck at the tender skin hard enough to burn, "some lovestruck mortal didn't like getting turned down?" 

You hum, half in affirmation, half in pleasure at the way his mouth is working you like he owns you. The lights flicker then dim until it's dark, the only glow emanating from a candle near your summoning circle and the orange moon hanging low outside your window. It bathes Minhyuk's skin in an otherworldly glow, paints him with a hot flicker so beautiful it sends an arrow through your chest. His lips find yours in the darkness. 

"Good girl," he murmurs into your mouth between shallow breaths. "Keep turning them down," he emphasizes with a drag of his clothed hardness against yours that has you reeling, "because no one's ever going to love you like I do."

_Love_ raises the hair on the back of your neck like an electric shock. He doesn't mean it. Demons were a particular breed, Minhyuk the most particular of them all. His body was easy to learn - his mind, impossible. You knew the Minhyuk that laced your wrists to the headboard in the sweltering midnight, but the Minhyuk with mottled morning light filtering across those marble cheekbones terrified you. 

Minhyuk gets off on the power. He gets off on the way you shiver when he touches you, every gasp of pleasure and pain on loop beneath his ribs until the pretty moan of an orgasm replaces it. Knowing he could crush you with otherworldly strength or fuck with you irreversibly gets him _hot_, makes him crave a taste of the sugary sweetness of your fragile trust against his tongue. His mouth grows insistent against yours; fanged points dip into the petal of your lip as his hands find your hem, ripping that jewel-toned slip from top to bottom. He’ll buy you a new one. He always does. 

The black set beneath makes him still. Heat creeps into your cheeks at his gaze, burning your skin as it drags across the straps and buckles wrapping your sex like a gift from god himself. Hands follow eyes to grasp and cup at your skin until words are spilling involuntarily from his throat, "Fuck, I have to make you mine." Your heart hammers out _love, love, love_ as his pretty silk shirt flutters to the ground with a whisper. 

You only leave his lap long enough to help him slide those damned black pants off before he's pulling you back to him and grinding against you hard enough to make you shiver. Long fingers pull that expensive lingerie to the side until it's digging into your hips, burn on your skin almost as rough as your burn for Minhyuk. He lets his cock slide between your lips without lining up, slow and lazy in contrast to your frenzied need, missing just shy of driving home with each thrust. He relishes in how easily you coat him, how you give a breathy little moan each time he bumps your clit, how your hips roll against nothing to try to guide him in as he slides his length against you. "Gonna cum before I’m even inside you?"

A hammering heartbeat is the only sin betraying his cool visage. His lips don't move, moonlight words seeping under your skin with a dark crackle of magic. _Beg. _

Your hips buck against his body, but Minhyuk holds you with a steel grip just tight enough to make you hiss. Little gasps leave your lips, but they're not enough. 

_You make this so hard on yourself,_ you hear, words settling inside you without noise in a way that should terrify you. Everything about Minhyuk should send you running: the inhuman beauty, the black magic a hundred times more powerful than your own, the way he made his skin burn against yours or chilled a room to ice when you acted out. Instead of fear, greed constricts you; it makes you want to own him, to bend those black velvet horns and too-sharp canines around your little finger until he craves you like oxygen. _So hard-headed,_ the velvet voice echoes, _so fuckin' lucky I’m so sweet._

"You love it," you murmur aloud, lips against his. He finally melts his grip to grant you a margin of movement that you use to sink down onto the sinful curve of his cock. Minhyuk’s groan is heaven, low and unrestrained as he loses himself in your body. 

"Maybe," he bites back, a flurry of vice grips and gasps holding you tightly enough to blossom bruises across your waist. _Maybe I've got it fucking bad for you_ as he grinds against that dirty secret that makes you shake, words so deep you can't tell if they ever even hit the air. Pleasure paints him like a god instead of evil inherent, all dewy caramel skin and lean muscle beneath you as his thrusts get sloppy. 

Regular routine with Minhyuk had a pattern, a careful order of dominance and submission you'd never dared to break before. Routine had rules, and rules kept you from wading into dangerous water. This - fingertips pinching gently at your nipple as the other circles your sex, low _come for me_’s into your hair, the glittering flush of bliss across his throat as he leans against the headboard - is dangerous. The way you orgasm so easily around him as he spills hot and heavy into you whispers that you're _fucked_, Minhyuk’s eyes trained on you in the darkness with an intensity that frightens you more than all the curses in the world. 

Heartbeats eventually slow against each other. One lingering kiss, punctuated with an accidental shudder of pleasure when he shifts inside you. He pretends to scoff, fond. 

“Congratulations, you're un-hexed, mortal," he says between fluttery kisses to your flushed chest. 

You can't bite back a smile. "And how could I ever possibly repay you, doctor?” 

He pretends to consider it. The pause isn’t long enough to even approach convincing. “You could start with dinner.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, babes. 
> 
> anonymous comments, fun facts, dirty or tasteless jokes always welcome in my [tumblr ask box. ](https://mxappeal.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> xo
> 
> ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ☾


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